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time her aim betrayed her - her spear landed right of her target while the rabbit dodged left, leaving its full body exposed. She already had another spear in hand however and let it fly. This throw her accuracy was deadly. The light spear went through the little animal's abdomen, sticking into the ground with the hare left incapacitated and gyrating spasmodically, pinned to her spear. She spun back toward the pack, drawing more spears from her quiver. She pulled two as she ran toward the bedlam, shifting one into her left hand as she drew another over her shoulder.
    A small rabbit darted beneath the legs of one of the trailing hunters. Azaria wanted to throw but hesitated, afraid she might hit the boy. She waited only the briefest of moments however, and then let loose when she thought she had a clean shot. It was a perfect throw and she watched confidently as her spear sailed toward its target. At the last moment however, another spear stopped the rodent dead in its tracks and hers hit empty dirt.
    Cursing her luck, Azaria raced down the hill, with no other thought than killing hares. She saw one take off far toward the trailing edge of the chaos, just about to find shelter in the woods. It was a long throw, but instinct drowned her doubts. She let fly and immediately admonished herself, realizing what an impossible throw it was. She lingered just a tick to watch the spear land and was astonished to see it strike the left leg of her prey, leaving it incapacitated but not dead. The extraordinary effort left her with a difficult decision. Was another throw from this distance worth the risk of wasting another spear? If she left the hare it was possible no one else would see it, but if someone else did, they might strike the fatal blow. In the end, her instincts again took over and she threw. Her quick decision paid off – the second spear pierced the animal's abdomen, removing any doubt the rabbit was hers.
    Was that three she had now? Was it four? She knew five was a respectable number and six was a probable win. With her success so far, Azaria let her focus slip and her mind wander. Do I really have a chance of taking this competition? But she had no way of knowing how many hares the others had bagged. She shook her head. Why am I letting myself get distracted before the hunt has finished?
    Knowing the final whistle must be coming soon, Azaria gripped her last spear. She raced down the hill toward the rest of the group. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flailing in the brush close to where she had missed with her second spear. A rabbit was pinned to the ground with a spear through its left back thigh, but was clearly alive and struggling to free itself. The fatal blow was the deciding one , she remembered one of the judges saying. Not believing her luck, she raced toward it and plunged her spear right through its back. Then she grabbed the spear she had missed with earlier and raced on. Another hare was running wildly toward a hole in the ground, but still close enough to make an attempt. As Azaria let loose, she heard the final whistle. She was proud to see her last spear land in the unfortunate target. She wasn't sure if it was a fatal blow, but knew it shouldn't matter. No one could throw any more spears. She had lost count of how many she’d killed, but felt it was at least four. She’d have to wait for the judges to tally the spears and announce the results at the feast that night to find out for sure.
    As she made her way back up the hill, a slower chaos was unfolding. The judges were making their way down the slope, while the participants headed toward their family members at the top of the hill. Azaria could see more than hares had been hit. One of the boys was being rushed off on a litter, a spear sticking out of his mid-section, covered by a bloody rag. A woman was walking with him, wailing in despair. Probably his mother, Azaria thought. She hoped he’d be okay.
    Although she’d watched this competition